


The Drift and the Tide

by zeldadestry



Category: The OC
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: 100_women, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-23
Updated: 2011-09-23
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:49:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldadestry/pseuds/zeldadestry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t cry,” he said, hugging her closer to him.  “Don’t cry, ok?”</p><p>“Ok,” she said, but didn’t stop, even when he brought his fingertips to her face, felt her wet cheek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drift and the Tide

**Author's Note:**

> warning: story includes an attempted drugging/assault, and discussion of that.
> 
> Story diverges from the season 3 episode "The Dawn Patrol": what if Marissa had immediately stepped in to help Heather?
> 
> prompt 89, "dangerous", for 100_women fanfic challenge

Marissa couldn’t stand some of Volchok’s friends and, although she knew their names, she preferred to think of them by her chosen nicknames for them: Creepy and Sleazy.

She’s not a bad person, she’s really not, but it’s true that when she first saw Creepy approach Heather, she hesitated. It wasn’t until Creepy held the spiked drink up to Heather’s mouth that she rushed towards them. “Don’t!” she said, knocking the bottle from his hand. It fell to the floor and the beer gushed out.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Creepy spat at Marissa. Heather swayed and then leaned against the wall to keep from falling. Marissa turned towards her, hoping to steady her, but Creepy grabbed her arm and jerked her away. Everything went crazy, then. Volchok jumped Creepy and both of them crashed to the ground. Heather slumped against Marissa, who held her weight up best she could.

The fight was over quickly. “You don’t fucking touch her,” Volchok said, giving one last punch to Creepy’s face.

Sleazy, the guy who had once warned Marissa to stay away from Volchok, stepped forward from the crowd. “What the fuck, man?” he said to Volchok, as he helped Creepy get up.

“This is my place. You don’t start shit at my place. Get the fuck out of here.” Volchok raised his voice. “That goes for everyone. Get the fuck out of here!” People listened when he shouted and made for the door.

Volchok’s lip was bleeding. “Are you ok?” Marissa said. She wanted to go to him, but she had to keep Heather upright.

“Yeah.” He grimaced when he touched the cut, but smiled down at his own blood as he rubbed it between his fingertips. “He only got in one punch, but I guess it was a good one.” He came over to her side. “You wanna tell me what just happened?”

“He tried to give Heather a spiked beer.”

“No way.”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking asshole!”

“I know.” Heather moaned against Marissa’s shoulder, spit dribbling from her mouth. “She’s really wasted. What should we do? Put her to sleep on the bed?”

“Then we can’t use it.” Marissa glared at him. “We should take her home.”

“What about her parents?”

“What about them?”

“I mean, we don’t want to get her in trouble.”

Volchok shook his head. “Her mom stays at her boyfriend’s on the weekends. No one will be there.” He took over, lifting Heather into his arms and carrying her out to the van, where he lay her down in the back and pulled a blanket up over her legs. Marissa sat beside her to make sure she was ok during the drive. Ten minutes later they pulled up to a small house not far from where the Harpers had lived. Marissa blinked back tears when she hopped out of the car and recognized the neighborhood. When Volchok looked at her, she wondered if he was also thinking of Johnny. “What’s up?” he asked, running the back of his hand down her arm.

“Just not the way I thought this night would go.”

He let out a long exhale. “I know.”

Marissa helped him move Heather. Her eyes cracked open when he lifted her into his arms. “Kevin?” she whimpered.

“You’re ok, baby,” he said. “I got you.” Marissa looked away. She didn’t follow him as he went up the stairs to the front door until he called out for her. “A little help?” She hurried over. “Check her pockets for her keys.” Marissa found them in Heather’s back pocket and unlocked the front door. She held it open for them as Kevin carefully carried Heather inside, making sure she didn’t hit her head on the doorframe. “Heather? You want to go to your room or stay on the couch?”

“Bathroom,” she croaked. Marissa followed them down the hall.

“On the right,” Volchok said, pointing with his foot. “That door.”

Marissa opened it and flipped the light switch on. Volchok helped Heather sit down on the floor near the toilet. She put both hands on the seat and retched into the bowl. She lifted her head for a moment, breathing hard, and then vomited again. Volchok sat on the edge of the tub. Marissa handed him a roll of paper towels from the counter and he tore off a few sheets for Heather to wipe her mouth. “Thanks,” she said.

“Are you ok?” Marissa asked.

“Can you get me some soda? My mouth tastes like shit.”

Marissa went back into the hall and towards the front of the apartment. The only items in the fridge were milk, apples, diet Dr. Pepper, and a nearly empty bottle of vodka. Marissa grabbed the liter of Dr. Pepper and poured it into a glass on the counter. As she walked towards the bathroom she could hear them talking but, when she reached the doorway, Heather stopped. “Here you go,” Marissa said, bending down to give her the glass.

“Thanks,” Heather said.

“Hey, Marissa?” Volchok said, looking up at her expectantly.

“Yeah?”

“Can you give us a moment?”

“Sure.” She went back to the living room and sank down on the couch. A car sped down the block, honking its horn. She sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Volchok was leaning over her. “Hey. Everything ok?”

“Yeah. Heather’s in bed. We can go.”

“Ok.” He helped her to her feet. His hands were warm. “I’m so tired.”

“I know, let’s go.” When they got back to the van, he didn’t start it up right away. He put the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. Instead he just kept clicking his lighter on and off, on and off. “I told her about the drink,” he finally said. “I told her what you told me.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she ok?” He shrugged. “Maybe you, maybe we shouldn’t leave her alone.”

“She’s ok. I’m gonna hang with her tomorrow.”

“What’s the deal with you guys?”

He drew out a cigarette and lit it up. “Jealous?”

“No.”

He draped his hand over her thigh. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“We’re friends, that’s all.”

She didn’t believe him. It was so easy to picture them hanging out together, drinking, smoking up, fucking around. Heather obviously loved him, she wondered if he realized? She couldn’t ask him. He wouldn’t tell her even if he did. Sometimes, late at night, alone in her bed, she would have insights into her life, into why she did the things she did, and one of those insights was that she grew close to people like Oliver and Johnny because they talked to her, told her what they were feeling. Of course, Oliver had manipulated her, she’d been too stupid to realize it at the time, but Johnny had just been honest, too honest, in the end. “I need to get home. Take me home.”

“What, you mean your place?”

“Yeah. I just- don’t wanna go back to your place. Not tonight.” He looked away from her. “Ok?”

“Whatever.” They didn’t talk on the way to the Roberts’, and he didn’t say anything as they walked side by side all the way up the stairs. Only when they had reached the front door did he grab her wrist. “Marissa,” he said, just that, just her name, nothing else, and when he leaned in to kiss her, she kissed back, running her hands up and down his arms, then pulling on his shirt to bring him closer. If he were going to be near her at all, then she had to have his body flush against hers. When he pulled away she tried to stop him, and his satisfied smile told her everything. He knew, he always knew, he knew she wanted him even before she realized she did. “Let’s go inside.”

“My mom-”

“What about her?”

“Yeah, but, even if we don’t run into her, my room’s right next door to Summer’s. She’d hear us.”

“So? Let her know what she’s missing.”

“Don’t be a jerk.”

“Marissa-” Just that, just her name again.

“What?”

He leaned in, down, kissed the hollow of her throat, touched the tip of his tongue to her skin and made her shiver. “Let’s go inside.”

She nodded, and turned towards the house. He stood behind her, his hands gently resting on her hips, as she unlocked the door. All the lights were off downstairs. Everyone else must be asleep. “We’ll go to one of the guest rooms,” she whispered. “That way we won’t wake Summer.” He followed her up the back staircase, into a seldom used bedroom. “I’m gonna take a shower,” she said, taking off her clothes.

He kicked off his shoes and lay back on the bed. “Want company?”

She shook her head. “I’ll be back soon.”

He stuck a hand in the waistband of his jeans. “I’ll be waiting.”

She cried in the shower. She didn’t even know why she was crying, half the time. For a while, after her dad got beat up and left Newport, she marked in her calendar every time she cried. After a few weeks it was pretty obvious she cried every day, so she gave the recording up. She sat down in the tub, water streaming over her, and she cried for herself, she cried for Heather, she cried for every girl who’d been hurt. She cried because Volchok carried Heather, because Ryan had once carried her, because, yes, sometimes someone was there to pick you up, to help you, but so many times they weren’t. So many times there was no one, nothing.

When she got back to the room, Volchok wasn’t there. She found him in the other bathroom down the hall, toweling off. “Hey,” she said, and wiped drops of water from his collarbone with her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, dropping the towel on the floor and taking her hand to walk back to the bedroom.

They both got into bed, naked. “Turn off the light,” she ordered him, which was stupid, because she was closer to it and he had to lean over her to reach.

He looked down at her. “Your eyes are bloodshot.”

She wanted to say “So?” She wanted to act like it didn’t matter, like she didn’t care, but she also wanted to scream, take something in her hand, something heavy, a weapon, and just swing away, break everything around her, knock this house, the trailer, the model home, all of fucking Newport down. When was that earthquake coming that was supposed to destroy California? It couldn’t be soon enough. “I was crying,” she admitted and, with those words, she began again. She couldn’t stand the expression on his face. Did he pity her, find her pathetic, what? “Please turn off the light.” He did, and when he bent down over her, in the dark, when he brought his lips to her cheek, she pushed against his chest. “Wait.” She turned on her side, closed her eyes so that she couldn’t see him. He did as she’d hoped, lay down behind her. She reached back for his arm and brought it over her, taking his hand into her own. “Like this, ok?” She turned her face back towards him and he kissed her, his tongue tracing a circle around the inside of her lips.

“You smell so good,” he said, running a hand up and down the outside of her thigh. “Marissa.” Why did it feel so important to hear him say her name, just her name? Because she could imagine, pretend, that he actually saw her, knew her, cared about her, her, Marissa, not just some piece, not just a body. “Don’t cry,” he said, hugging her closer to him. “Don’t cry, ok?”

“Ok,” she said, but didn’t stop, even when he brought his fingertips to her face, felt her wet cheek.

“What the hell is going on?” he asked, though not unkindly. “What? Is it about Heather?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is that it? Or do you just not want to talk to me? Huh, what, do you wish little bitch was here? Would you talk to him?”

She turned over to face him and slapped his shoulder. “Don’t call Ryan that.”

He grabbed her hand. “It’s what he is.”

“Maybe it’s what you are,” she said, struggling to free her hand.

“Maybe that’s what you like.”

She wrenched her hand free and slapped him across the face. “You’re right. That’s what I like. That’s what I want.”

He rubbed at his jaw. “That was nothing. You want to play mistress of pain, you’re gonna have to hit a lot harder.” She got out of bed and headed to the closet. Didn’t the stepmonster used to keep packing supplies in here? “Where are you going?” he asked, but she ignored him, yanked open the double doors and turned on the light. There it was, on top of a roll of bubble tape, rope. She grabbed it and returned to the bed, held it out to him. “You want me to tie you up?”

“No.”

“You want to tie me up.” She nodded. He rolled over on his back and put his arms over his head. “Go for it. I’m not scared of you.”

She knew enough about sailing to tie knots that would not give. The bed frame would break before the rope would. He didn’t watch her, staring at the ceiling. “I’m going to blindfold you.”

“Alright.”

She grabbed her shirt from the floor. “Lift your head.” He did, cords of his neck taut, and she wrapped and tied the fabric of a sleeve over his eyes. “Relax,” she ordered, and he lay his head back down on the pillow. “How do you feel?”

“Like your bitch.”

“Like it?”

“I could get used to it.”

“Did you ever?”

“All I do is play games.”

“No. Not this. Your friend, what he did, have you ever?”

He shook his head. “Never. And he’s not my friend. He’s just a dude I know.”

“You called him bro.”

“So that makes him my brother? Just a fucking word.”

“Like when you call me babe?”

“Should I call you something else?”

“I don’t know.” She lay her body over his, licked up his throat, up the side of his face.

“Talk to me,” he said.

“You want to know it’s me?”

“I want to know it’s you.”

 

One Friday night they stopped at the Diner for dinner. “Hey, you wanna see the new X-men movie?” he asked her, giving the bottom of the glass ketchup bottle a mighty thwack with the heel of his palm.

“What, like a date?” He stuffed fries into his mouth and flipped her off. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fuck you,” he said, mouth full.

“Aw,” she blew a kiss at him across the table. “Thanks, sweetie.”

“So do you wanna go to the movie or not?”

“Are you gonna buy me my ticket?”

“Ok.”

“What about popcorn and candy and soda?”

“Yeah, ok.”

She blew him another kiss. “It’s a date.” He flipped her off again and she laughed. He was blushing.

After dinner they went to the theater and she waited in front as he stood in line and bought the tickets. When he came back to her, he took two cigarettes out of his pack. “Stocking up on the nicotine?” she said.

“Yeah, don’t wanna miss the movie for a smoke break.” They stood side by side, watching the people walking by. Volchok blew his smoke to the right so it wouldn’t go in her face.

“Hey, look! It’s Summer and Seth.” She called out to them and waved, but Volchok grabbed her hand.

“Cut it out. I don’t want to hang with those losers.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Too late, they’re coming over.”

Seth, for once, was dragging Summer forward. “Hey, Marissa!” he said, returning her wave with his usual goofy cheer.

“This is Seth,” Marissa said.

Volchok gave a nod. “What’s up?”

“This is Summer.” Marissa fixed her with a stare. “My best friend.”

Summer rolled her eyes, but held out her hand, which Volchok briefly shook. “How are you guys?”

“Alright. What movie are you gonna see?”

“Do you have to ask?” Summer groaned.

“X3,” Seth said, rubbing his hands together.

“We came to see it, too,” Marissa said.

“Do you like comics?” Seth asked Volchok.

“When I was nine,” he answered.

“Yeah, I’m pretty immature,” Seth nodded. “Especially emotionally. Summer, will you please confirm?”

“You speak the truth, Cohen.”

“I used to watch the cartoon,” Volchok offered Seth.

“Cool. Did you ever watch Batman: the Animated series?”

“That one’s pretty good.”

“It’s amazing.”

Summer drew Marissa away as Seth started interrogating Volchok on his favorite episodes and characters. “The Cohens are in Napa for the weekend,” she said, “so I’m gonna spend the night at Seth’s.”

Marissa couldn’t resist tickling Summer. “Have good sex!”

Summer wriggled in her grip. “Go get your kink on,” she said, and grimaced.

Marissa shimmied her hips. “Oh, I plan to.”

“You skank,” Summer said, and they both giggled.

 

After the movie, Marissa was hungry again, so she and Volchok went back to the pier. “So those are your friends,” Volchok said.

“They’re the best,” Marissa said. “I love them.”

“Yeah, a hyperactive nerd and a spoiled rich girl. Awesome.”

“Big words from a burnout thug.” Marissa took the plastic lid off her milkshake and threw it away.

“I’m not a burnout.”

“Yeah, and I’m not a self-destructive narcissist. Fuck labels.” Digging into her drink with a plastic spoon, Marissa held up a bite. “Want some?” Volchock opened his mouth and she fed him. “Seth was really unpopular when we were growing up. Kids were so mean to him.”

“Were you popular?”

“I don’t know. Summer was. She was even prom queen as a junior.”

“What an achievement.”

Marissa elbowed his side. “Shut up.”

He elbowed back. “So? What about you? ”

“Guys always liked me. Girls were mean to me sometimes.”

“Like Heather.”

“Not that mean, but yeah.” She stopped walking and they leaned over the railing of the pier, looking down at the waves. “My dad said they were jealous, and my mom-” She swallowed.

“Yeah?”

“She said teenage girls can smell fear.”

“I don’t get it.”

“She was saying I had to toughen up.”

“Oh.”

“What about you?”

He brought out his flask. “Do we have to do this sharing crap?”

“No.” She took another bite of her shake. Two weeks ago, that might have made her wince. Now she could understand him a little better. He’d asked her a question about her past, and he’d listened when she answered. She asked him the same question back, but he wouldn’t answer it. Alright, fine. Of course, it would have been a bit nicer if he could just say he didn’t want to talk about it, but since when did Volchok give a shit about being polite? She touched her fingers to the rope that was still tied around his wrist. He didn’t pull away, which she liked. It was like reminding him of - something. Somehow it was easier to not get hung up on the stupid shit he said when she just remembered the times between them without words. Of course they talked to each other in bed, too, but it was just, like, to hear each other’s voices. Her hand wrapped around his wrist and he took one last swig from his flask, then leaned in to kiss her. “Do you want to come over?” she asked, when they broke apart. “No one’s gonna be there. We’ll have the place to ourselves. We can go swimming.”

 

Volchok was looking through her closet. She’d never invited him into her room before. “See anything you like?” Marissa asked.

He held up a pair of red, patent leather, stilettos. “Do you ever wear these?”

“Not really. When we were freshmen, Summer and I went as strippers to a Halloween party and I bought them for that.” The shoes were actually Gucci and crazy expensive, but she didn’t think he’d appreciate the irony. He’d never heard of Tom Ford.

“Will you put them on?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Since when do you ask?”

He smirked. “Put them on.”

“Should I put on make-up?”

“No, don’t. I like you like this.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Just take off your clothes and put on the shoes.”

She did as he asked, had to admit she knew she looked amazing and liked it. “Wait,” she said, as he positioned her so they could fuck in front of the mirror. “Tell me. Tell me what you were like in high school.”

He kissed her shoulder. “You know Machiavelli?”

“Yeah. You read “The Prince”?”

“No, but I know what Tupac said about it. That whole if you can’t be loved you better be feared idea.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

“No?”

“No.”

“But you do what I tell you.”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you.”

“You mean you like it when I fuck you.”

“Yeah, I like that, too.”

She’d never watched herself before. It was intense to see her own face in the mirror, like he was fucking her, but she was also somehow fucking herself.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, afterward, to take the heels off, her toes were beginning to hurt, then fell back onto the mattress and just lay there, boneless, thinking it’d be nice to never move again.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said.

She pointed. “Through that door.”

“Towels?”

“There’s a stack in the bathroom. You’ll see it.” Her mouth was dry. Too much panting, she thought, and smiled. “Hey, will you get me something to drink from the kitchen?”

He pulled on his boxers. “What do you want?”

“There’s usually juice in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever.” He went downstairs, and a moment’s uneasiness intruded. It was like the old cliché, she trusted him only as far as she could see him. He came back up with a carton of pineapple orange juice and two glasses. He poured for both of them and held out her glass. “Thanks.” She pushed herself up to sitting on one arm and took the drink with her other hand. He stayed standing.

“This place is crazy,” he said, after he’d finished his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you ever think about why people gotta have houses so much bigger than they need?”

“Dr. Roberts is a plastic surgeon.”

“So?”

“Well, it’s like the house is proof, you know? People see it’s really fancy, so they figure he has to be good at his job and then they want to hire him.”

“You’re saying it’s like an advertisement?”

“I guess.” She held out her glass.

“You want more?”

“Yeah.” She watched him put down his own glass and take hers. “That’s what my dad used to say, anyway, about our house.”

“You used to live in a house like this?”

“Before my Dad lost all his money.”

“You must have hated the trailer.” He handed her the glass, filled to the brim.

“No.” She tried to remember. “I mean, yeah, but not because it was a trailer. I hated it because I was so depressed, I mean, after Johnny died.” And after Ryan dumped me, she thought, but would never say, not unless she wanted to send him into a bullshit macho rage.

He ran his thumb back and forth across his lower lip, like he did when something was bothering him. “Harper,” he said. “Shit.” He left to take his shower without another word.

She intended to wait up for his return but was so tired she was already dozing by the time he slipped into bed beside her and draped an arm over her waist. She wiggled her body back until it was snug against his. “The trailer wasn’t all bad,” she murmured.

“Yeah?”

She turned in to face him. He was watching her, waiting, she realized, maybe even hoping. “We had some good nights,” she said. He kissed her, then, slipped his hand between her legs, and she rocked against him, wanting and willing to forget everything but their bodies.


End file.
